When The Levees Break
by Panfila
Summary: Friends. Enemies. Lovers. Rockers.
1. October First pt 1

**A toast to the many kids of School of Rock. Pairings will be difficult, unpredictable, and heartbreaking - like real life. Chapters will be short, two-scene catastrophes - like bad television.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>October First pt. 1<strong>

**(Friday)**

* * *

><p>"No way, man. There's absolutely no way that's gonna fly."<p>

"Why? Why do you say that?"

"Because no matter how good they could be—and I'm not sayin' they're good—when it comes down to it, Lala—"

"Lawrence."

"When it comes down to it, Larry—"

"Lawrence."

"Alright! When it comes down to it, Lala, no Britband could possibly be anythin' other than sucktastic if they're named Yes."

Lawrence stares dumbfounded, as if he's watching a dissected frog coming back to life and trying to croak in English. He has trouble understanding what's being said. He obviously recognizes the words: "sucktastic" is a mildly clever portmanteau of "suck" and "fantastic" that means "incredibly lame;" "Lala" is a less-than-clever nickname made out of his first name; "Britband" is an abbreviation (with mild condescension) of "British band," which Yes most certainly is. What Lawrence Tsai can't figure out is: why is Freddy Jones such a douchebag?

"Why are you such a douchebag?"

His question hides a hurried Asian accent that he still hasn't lost, despite possessing an impressive vocabulary for a ninth grader and an acknowledged gift for interpreting English literature.

Freddy gets up from his lean on the lockers and makes exaggerated apologetic gestures. Messy blond hair bows in mocking kowtow. "Dude, Larry. No need to get all offended. I just think it sounds like a lame band name."

"You're lame."

His favorite puny comeback. Top of the class, respected public speaker, talented musician... and Lawrence can _still_ never keep his composure when arguing with Freddy. He's even taller than Freddy by a good couple of inches, but it never helps at all.

"Alright, dude. Bring it if you want and we'll see if anybody digs the style. Just cool off before practice tonight, right?" Freddy replies, patting him patronizingly on the shoulder and ambling off down the school hall, apparently unfazed by the entire ordeal.

Lawrence watches him walk away, down toward whichever class he will inevitably be late, to the girls he will inevitable spend all period flirting with, and the new teacher that will inevitably come to hate him. Lawrence shakes his head and starts toward his own Algebra 2 classroom and compulsively rifles through his bag. It's a sign of his stress that he has to physically check to make sure his math homework is present and completed.

Only October First and the school year is already not looking to be a good one.

* * *

><p>"God, she is hot."<p>

"Dude, if she was any hotter, my eyes would be melting right now."

They sit huddled around the lunch table, eyeing a table in the distant bottom level of the cafeteria where a girl sits alone. Frankie looks over, laughs, and smacks a meaty hand onto the ceramic tabletop.

"Seriously, how does she do that?"

"She just does it for attention," Freddy says, sitting down at the table with a soda and grinning.

The guys all smile and start commenting all at once, mostly using the word "hot." There's about ten of them, an assorted bunch of guys that includes, from the band, Frankie, Lenny, Marco, and Gordon (who only half-listens while working from his laptop).

"She's not that hot," Freddy continues with a growing smirk. Most of the group smiles back.

"You only say that cause you never scored with her."

"Shut up," Freddy says. "What about Michelle? _She_ is hot. She's like the hottest girl in our class."

They nod along, most of them picturing Michelle Green, former groupie of the School of Rock, in any of her trademark revealing outfits. To say she is the most popular girl in school is understatement.

"Yeah, Michelle's hot, really hot. But not like... _that_." Frankie points across the room at the girl. She wears two red streaks in her black hair, a few cartilage piercings in both ears, a tight Ninja Turtles t-shirt beneath a black vest; gaudy plastic jewelry; skintight gray jeans and busted black flats. She is an alt-girl fantasy. "That's like a stack of Hot Body pancakes smothered in Hot Attitude syrup."

Freddy sneers. "Get a hold of yourself, Frankie. Can't even talk about girls without talking about food."

The others agree and laugh loudly while Frankie looks down; he doesn't say anything, which says more than enough.

"If she's so hot, why don't you just go talk to her?" Gordon asks impatiently. He's putting together two possible configurations for the practice that night and it's more complicated than he expected. Not surprisingly, he's in no mood for caveman talk.

"_Why don't you just go talk to her?_" Freddy mimics in a slow voice. "God, Gordie, you're such a buzzkill."

"Dude, Gordon, you know why," Marco answers. He's used to smoothing over Gordon's stressed-out curtness; their existence as the two-man musical group RoadTop is pretty much been founded on that ability. "She's mute. Won't say anything, won't talk to anybody."

"Does anyone actually even remember what her voice sounds like?"

"I don't think anybody's heard her say anything in school since the fifth grade."

"She barely talks at practices, either," Freddy says. "She just nods at Zacky Poo and picks at notes when they form basslines. Sometimes she scowls." He pauses and looks the faces of each of the guys. "And damn, that scowl is sexy."

They all laugh, even the ones that aren't in the band, and have never been to a practice, and hang around the other five in a strange mixture of sycophantic hope and bitter envy. They laugh the hardest.

"Well, I'm gonna fix that scowl," Freddy adds. "And I'll have 'er eating outta my hand. Just you watch: it's going down at the Gordon and Marco Thing tomorrow night."

With a sigh, Gordon looks up from the laptop. He gives up working on the light shows and his gaze settles on the far sight of Katie Brown, slowly and intensely chewing her sandwich, looking like a cross between a cheesy supermarket ad and an angry concert poster. She looks up suddenly and locks eyes with him across the entire cafeteria.

Gordon snatches his laptop up and spins away from the table.

"Gotta go," he calls back to the others.

He silently wonders when everybody in the band went and got so damn weird.


	2. October First pt 2

**No matter what anybody says, there was no such thing as the Romantic Period. Nobody's period is ever romantic.**

* * *

><p><strong>October First pt. 2<strong>

**(Friday)**

* * *

><p><em>"...which means that campaign season is upon us! Students interested in running for a class officer position are encouraged to sign up after school in the cafeteria with a completed application form. Please know that a<em>_ll applications will be taken seriously and candidates should expect..."_

"Summer, you're okay, right?" Marta asks more out of habit then actual curiosity. Of course she's not just okay – if there's competition involved, Summer's heart is pumping and her fingernails are tapping and her wheels are turning and she's not okay until the competition is crushed. Marta's question is more a reassurance than an inquiry: "You have a plan and it's going to work, Summer," she's actually saying.

"Of course," Summer replies, straightening the papers on her desk. There's only a minute or so left before the bell rings for the start of Geometry. "I was class factotum all through middle school, wasn't I? This is just an opportunity for a bigger group of people to see what a great leader I am. Plus, better competition makes for a better victory."

Marta smiles at her friend's self-confidence. More than a few people find her brazen attitude off-putting, but Marta likes it; she finds the confidence infectious, like it somehow boosts her own ego. Plus, Summer's good about rewarding her friends when she's in power.

"Good, because I heard Michelle is running, too."

Summer hesitates in the middle of setting her agenda for the day; it's a slight pause in her poise that's utterly imperceptible unless you've been close friends with Summer for six years, which Marta has.

"Michelle Green?"

"Yes, Summer. What other Michelle do we both know?"

_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGG_

The next pause is slightly more pronounced and only partially hidden by the bell that starts the class period. Summer smiles broadly over her stumble and straightens her back out before turning to her right and facing her friend confidently.

"Good for her."

At the front of the classroom, the teacher centers herself at the blackboard, smiles warmly, and begins introducing the lesson to the class. From her seat in the third row – the only class this year she couldn't secure a spot front and center - Summer reflects with mild surprise on the positive consequences of not being at the front of the class and ignores every word the teacher says.

"Unfortunately," Summer continues, "she's going to have to learn that being popular in middle school doesn't mean anything when you start as a freshman in a larger high school. And it doesn't mean anything in school politics."

"Popularity is the only thing that matters in politics."

"I'm pretty sure intellect, accessibility, and charisma are the foundations of a good campaign, Marta. I think know what I'm doing."

Marta sighs and pretends to pay attention to the teacher while she draws random arcs across the board. "This would be a lot easier if we were all still friends..." she mutters.

"Well, we're not and we're better off for it."

"But she used to be so much fun."

"And she's not anymore. Who needs that skank anyway?"

"Alright Summer, you win. And you'll probably win Freshman Class Rep."

"Of course," Summer answers. "It's not like Michelle has anything I don't."

* * *

><p>"Zack, I'm so glad I have you!"<p>

He flinches a bit from the sudden feel of hot air near his neck. He knows who it is without turning around; after all, Michelle did make a big show of entering the classroom and choosing a seat for the rest of the year on the first day of classes. And it was impossible not to notice her calves in those knee-high leather boots and skirt that would've been grounds for concern in a less liberal private school.

"Have me?"

"As a partner on our first project, duh."

Across the row, Billy Furtado rolls his eyes at the line. He tries to mind his own business, namely the lecture in front of them.

"Oh, yeah. That's great." Zack turns his head slightly to the side and tries to convey a polite smile without looking as uncomfortable as he feels. "Have you thought about a topic yet?"

"Romance."

He manages to flinch less obviously this time, even though the breath is warmer and closer to his ear than it was a few seconds ago.

"What?"

"Music from the Romantic Period." She laughs with perfect, practiced flirtation. "We're in a class called _World History: 1850 to Present_, what did you think I was talking about?"

Zack turns just far enough to see Michelle playfully nibbling at a pencil, eyes narrowed on his. He manages to stifle any further flinching but can't stop the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Oh, uh... nothing, I guess."

Billy can't help another eyeroll.

"I think we should get a headstart on it, make sure it's an A+. Why don't you come work on it after school at my house? My parents won't be home 'till late so no one will bother us."

Billy's eyebrows go up and he has trouble not blatantly turning around and staring.

Zack's reply is immediate. "I can't. The band has practice. You could come along, though, if you want. I heard you've been taking private voice lessons."

Michelle smiles with a sudden warmth that catches him off-guard. She runs a finger across his shoulder blade and gives a quiet laugh.

"I _have_ been working on my voice for a while now and I would love to sing something for you, but I don't think I should show up there. I think a lot of people in the band hold some kind of crazy grudge against me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve it but..."

He starts to answer, then wisely stops and instead says, "How about Sunday? The morning after Gordon and Marco's Thing?"

Her eyes light up. "Sure! My parents will be at a golf tourney for the day and we can do it alone."

Zack blinks in astonishment.

"I'll give you directions to my place Friday night. This is going to be incredible."

He swallows nervously and shakes his head a bit, as if to clear it of thoughts.

"It sure is."

Billy bites his lip for a few moments then jots down a message on a small notepad.


	3. October First pt 3

**One time, I caught a friend fondling a deflated soccer ball with his eyes closed because he thought it's what boobs felt like. End of story.**

* * *

><p><strong>October First pt. 3<strong>

**(Friday)**

* * *

><p><em>"Watch out for the AIDS!"<em>

Lenny and Gordon don't laugh, but they're pretty much the only ones who don't.

Everybody else within earshot at least cracks a smile. They're walking through the school courtyard at the end of the day and the end of the first week of classes. Which means they've been putting up with this shit for five days.

_"Look out! Here come the AIDS kids!"_

Lenny ignores the voices. "So... did you finish the light shows?"

_"AIDS!"_

"The multimedia presentations?" Gordon mumbles with substantially less patience.

Lenny rolls his eyes. "Multimedia shows. Whatever."

_"Don't let them touch you!"_

"Yeah, I finished it in Comp Sci 1 while Mrs. Davis was trying to teach us how to use PowerPoint."

"Man, why are you even that class?"

"Um, because it's required?"

"Can't you test out?"

"Probably." The agitation starts to build up in Gordon.

Lenny's tendency toward uninvited frankness sometimes drives him crazy, mostly because it fuels his own obsession with over-analyzing and picking things to pieces. Gordon figures he's already pretty emotionally unstable, the extra help is not necessary. And being laughed at on the way out from school does not help make anything better.

They pass by a group of older girls—Juniors?—who try not be obvious in staring back at them. As they walk by, it becomes obvious that they're not trying hard enough.

"So why don't you?"

"I dunno. It gives me some time to do homework for other classes, work on my personal projects, listen to music. It kinda rocks."

Gordon stops and looks back toward the school courtyard that they've finally managed to leave, at the kids who've finally moved on to something more interesting. "Do you think the AIDS thing is more offensive cause you're black or cause they're implying we're gay?"

Being Mexican and Black and two of the few minorities in the entire school, it seems that race inadvertently comes up a lot in their conversations. "So... do I think it's my fault or my fault?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah you did."

They're in the woods now. Not the actual woods, but the stretch of trees and tidy garden that lines the road from the school to the small highway nearby and the physical symbol of the school's separation of from the outside world.

Gordon starts back up after several moments of silence. "Wait, are you saying you're gay?"

"What? No. I'm saying that on top of being two of four people in the whole school who get called 'AIDS Kids,' we shouldn't also stop hangin' out."

"You wanna start hanging out more with Eleni, then?"

Lenny makes a face. "Nah, she's kinda... annoying. But not enough to get called 'AIDS Kid' every day."

They reach the end of the woods, exit out into the real world, and take their usual right.

"And," Lenny adds, "if anybody turned out gay, it'd be you."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, but what's it supposed to mean?"

"You're definitely the gayer one of us."

"How?"

"When was the last time you even looked at a girl?"

Gordon almost says "Lunchtime," before thinking twice about it. "All the time."

"Oh right, 'All the time.' 'In Canada.' 'Boobs are awesome.' Yeah, I'm buying that."

They get to the bus stop and sit on the clean, aluminum bench, dropping down like anchors.

After a couple of minutes, Gordon untucks his polo. "You gonna stop by practice tonight?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Are you gonna stop being a dick by then?"

Lenny smiles and leans back in the bench, feels the cool autumn air swirling around them, looks down the wide road at the city bus that won't be there for another twenty minutes. He rubs his closely-shaved head a bit.

"What'd I say about sticking together?"

* * *

><p>"Can you imagine us together?"<p>

Eleni grins and swoons, pretending to faint. The blocky, black Mary Jane shoes and unflattering plaid skirt do a lot to rob the scene of its romance, but she plays it up for all it's worth.

"Yeah!"

She turns and faces Marco, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaping in shock. Her hand still hangs above her forehead, making her look like a cartoon.

"Really?"

"Nope."

Her face settles into a pout and Marco walks right on past her. They're traveling down a side exit of the school, on a path nestled between the tennis courts and leading out behind the soccer field. It's no coincidence there's no one nearby to shout anything about AIDS.

"But—!"

"Nope."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why would you ask me?"

"How can you be so mean!"

"How can you be so blind?" the redheaded boy answers.

Any stranger would label it a serious argument, maybe moments from a slap-off, but it was business as usual for the two—a run-of-the-mill, everyday, shouted conversation.

"But he asked for my help today in class! Freddy Jones actually asked **me** for help. Out of all the girls!"

"He asked you for answers—which is not the same as help—and he asked you because you always get As on your homework and no one else lets him copy anymore."

She stays quiet as they duck into the soccer field.

Except for a deflated soccerball or two, the field is clean-swept, well-maintained, and perfectly green. As they cross mid-field, Eleni swings strongly and kicks at the nearest ball. It rolls unevenly for a couple yards than stops abruptly.

Marco sighs and rolls his eyes to the side.

"Yeah, I guess. I meant that I could see it being a secret crush kinda thing 'cause you're both too embarrassed to say anything."

She beams like a headlight. "Marco, are you serious?"

He watches as she steps up to the deflated soccer ball and puts another strong swing into it. Her leg hangs on the air a second or two after the kick and Marco watches out of the corner of his eye.

Eleni is weird. She's gangly and awkward enough to be excluded from the cool crowd, but she has enough kind and humble prettiness to make the loser guys and girls feel extremely uncomfortable having her around. On top of that, Marco thinks, she's a totally clueless nerd.

"Yeah. He's got a reputation and an image that he feels he needs to maintain and it's probably keeping him from..." He doesn't actually listen to himself go on talking. It's not that the patent lies bother him—those are simply a part of talking to girls, he's come to realize—it's the way Eleni seems to swallow them hook, line, and sinker: willingly, eagerly, cluelessly.

"You're probably right, Marco. God, it's so great to talk to guys about other guys. I don't know why all girls don't do this!"

He inwardly groans (facepalming repeatedly in his mind) and slips past the exit gate of the field. Eleni wiggles through behind him.

"Wait, where's Gordon?"

"He forgot some AV cables at home and wanted to get 'em before heading over."

They walk along the edge of the treeline, taking the long way around the forest and the shortcut to their practice space—Zack's garage. It's quiet and comfortable, just the way Marco likes it.

"So why didn't you go with him?"

"He's with Lenny and he insisted on going through the courtyard and I don't... I mean, you know that's not a good idea."

She doesn't answer immediately but frowns a bit.

"Plus," he continues off her silence, "how else would you have an excuse to come to practice unless you came with me?"

Headlight eyes again. "Aww, that's so sweet of you! I can't believe you ship us!" She stops briefly. "I wonder if Freddy'll ask me for help again?"

Marco snorts. "Pretty drums are the only thing he doesn't cheat on."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing."

He leads the way toward Casa Mooneyham.


	4. October First pt 4

**Finally, in a story about musicians, there's actual music. And it only took four chapters. Go figure.**

* * *

><p><strong>October First pt. 4<strong>

**(Friday)**

* * *

><p><em>One.<em>

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

...Steady snare...

_One. Two. Three. Four._

Faster.

_One Two Three Four_

...joined by buzzsaw guitar...

_OneTwoThreeFour_

They speed up: two instruments gaining momentum without word, two musicians in sync without looking. It's the norm: Zack Mooneyham and Freddy Jones never look at each other during practice.

_onetwothreefour_

They plateau and Zack nods at Lawrence, who holds up a hand to Alicia Allen, who stands across from him on the other side of the keyboard. She looks past some the nerves and focuses on his hand, slowly expanding her diaphragm.

_"Whoooaaaaaa-ooh-ooh-whoooaaaaaaa..."_

She shoots up the scale and hits a high note, still staring at Lawrence. He drops his hand a bit and she follows with her voice. They repeat twice more before the bass joins in the thundering march and she cuts out.

Lawrence smiles a bit to himself. He loves helping people and he loves music, so vocal director is an ideal position for him to have. And it's not often that he has the attention of a girl. He raises a hand and plays a rolling chord with the other.

_"What aaaaarrre you doin' in my beeeeeeeeeed?"_

The song is "Breakenter", an original by Zack. It's half-White Stripes, half-Spoon, with sprinkled vocals from "Great Gig in the Sky" and Arcade Fire-style keys. It's a slow build to high energy, cobbled together from some of the band's varied musical tastes.

_"What aaaaarrre you doin' in my he-ee-e-ee-e-e-e-ad?"_

Alicia warbles some of the notes.

It used to be called "Homeburglar" but Zack refused to let the first song they were going to demo be a pun on a McDonald's character from the 90s. Freddy was not happy to be outvoted. Before that, it was "Hello, Stranger," which was Marta's idea and only a temporary placeholder until the group found something that didn't sound like, in Freddy's words, "a pickup line from an emo hooker."

Alicia starts low—with Lawrence holding his hand near his stomach—and follows it up and around. She misses a note and slides past a few more, but stays on course toward the finale.

_"Carve initials onto the flooo-oo-oooor with your shiiiiiiiiiiiiiinin' teeth"_

In the corner of the garage, on what used to be Zack's dad's tool bench, Gordon Infante is spread out with his laptop and notebooks. A projector shoots his mock-up onto the only empty flat area in the entire room, the back of the garage door. He shakes his head and jots down a quick note; after an hour and a half, Gordon has only written a page of notes, instead of the three or four he usually has down by then.

It's not that the show is close to perfect—either the flood light or the keyboard is a smidge off-tempo during the second chorus and Lawrence is never off—it's just that he keeps getting distracted by the weird face Katie makes when she slap-pops the bass. She bites the corner of her bottom lip a bit and narrows her eyebrows like she's angry but her nose does that cute thing where—

Oh damn. He snaps back to the laptop screen. Did she just catch me staring at her? (again)

Beside him, Marco enjoys the energy of the song, bobbing to the rhythm and imagining how great it would sound if they'd let 'im add a dance loop and mix the levels. And beside him, Eleni all but drools at the way Freddy's limbs swing around the drum set, raining cymbals and toms.

The three singing girls harmonize the last chorus and drop out. Alicia grabs the mike and focuses on the hand again.

_"I'll burn my ha-ouse da-a-a-a-own /_  
><em>Just so you got no whe-errrre to gooooooooooooo..."<em>

Stuttering snare beats.

Jagged chords.

Faster and faster until the—

CRASH CRASH CRASH

rumbling climax.

* * *

><p>"So that was a pretty good practice." Summer tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stares straight at Zack, who's sitting on a folding chair in front of her delicately wiping the guitar on his lap.<p>

"Yeah, I guess."

"Three songs in two hours is good headway," she offers.

Zack shrugs. "It's the tightness of the practice that matters, not the number of songs."

"…Yeah, I know that. I'm not—I don't think it's _un_important…" Summer replies.

"Just not as important as meeting the practice schedule?"

"Yes—what?—no, that's not—"

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, the schedule is very important, but—"

"Forget about it, Summer, I promise we'll be in shape by the time we play at The Loophole."

She tries again. "I know you will."

"...or else?"

"No, that's not—ugh. Never mind. Good practice."

She turns away, grabbing her book bag on the way to the door and sighing in relief that no will see how her face slowly tinging with red. She feels pissed and disappointed and embarrassed; it seems like she can never be playful without being a bitch. Especially not to boys. Especially not to Zack.

She slips out the door without a glance back.

"You need to get everybody heavier into the groove, Honey Ham."

"And you need to stop speeding up on the second chorus."

Zack looks up from the guitar, his thoughts on the recent conversation—Did I really just act like an asshole to her for no reason?—interrupted by Freddy and his spinning drumstick.

"No man, what this song needs is a looser jam feeling in chorus. Right now, it's all robot with a huge stick up its ass."

"What? That sentence literally makes no sense."

Nearby, Lawrence approaches Alicia. "You did very well today."

"Oh, thanks." She barely smiles, barely even acknowledges the compliment, though Lawrence looks like he's about to pass out from embarrassment. "I think it was kinda bad, actually..."

"No, it wasn't!" She's a bit surprised by how adamant he is. "You're getting better."

"Not really. I don't know why we don't let Tamika do it, she's the better singer."

"That's sweet of you to say," Tamika answers, slipping into her cardigan, "but you know I can't reach those high notes. I have the power, but you have the range we need and I don't think Lawrence and Zack want to rewrite the whole thing."

"And you have the character for it, Alicia," Lawrence adds. He struggles a bit with the next part. "You have a strong personality and a... a stage presence and—"

"I thought it was about being desperate for money and having to steal to survive," Alicia says.

It takes a second for him to realize that she's talking to Zack—and didn't hear anything he said...

Zack shakes his head. "'Breakenter' is about not being able to move past someone 'cause the memories keep forcing their way back into your head and hijacking your thoughts."

"I thought it was about doing drugs," Freddy says.

"I thought it was about sex," Marta says.

"I thought it was about rebellion," Marco says.

"I thought it was about Nazis."

Everybody stares at Katie. She stares back.

"Okay, well... everybody's wrong so—"

"Everybody going to Gordon and Marco's thing tomorrow night?" Tamika asks, purposefully swerving the conversation.

Everyone generally agrees, starting up with ideas about outfits and expectations.

"You thinking of gracing us with your pretty pout, Princess?" Freddy asks to the side.

Katie doesn't even crack a smile. In fact, she hasn't moved or blinked since last speaking. He stands still, staring her down or waiting for a reply. Maybe both.

"I'll be there, Freddy!" Eleni offers.

"That's great."

She looks thrilled to hear a reply, completely ignorant of the fact that Freddy could care less whether she was talking to him or rolling around on fire.

"Alright Leni, why don't we get going?" Marco asks, coming up beside her and tugging at her shoulders.

"Cool. See you later, Freddy!"

He doesn't reply.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone slowly exits the garage holding instruments, backpacks slung over shoulders, more than a little tired. Some leave in pairs and some alone, though nobody leaves with the person with whom they want to be walking the most.


End file.
